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What caught my eye were the clean white bones in the dirt.
When I went to look, I saw some of the possum still
held its skin and tail and a little fur. It was gruesome.
It really turned my stomach, but I couldn't look away.
There was something strangely theatrical about it. Hovering
over the top half of a partial scull was this thin, dried-
up leathery face, like a mask. Below it was a glove. Not a glove, but the dried paw, fingers, and claws.
It was just like a kid glove out of which two bright white arm bones protruded, like the wooden arms of a marionette.
The whole thing was maimed badly, really awful, but I couldn't look away from that mask and glove.
A costume, made of its own body. Bright white bones delicately, strategically shrouded in their own skins.